The High Road
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: I was in a careless mood, loosened by brandy and heartbreak. I decided to tempt the devil. Norrington oneshot


**Author's Note: **This is a strange little one-shot I wrote in an attempt to dispel my writer's block. As of now it is a one-shot stand alone fic, but there is a chance (if I have the time and energy) that this fic could be followed up by a sequel. Special thanks to Kody Wright for her ideas and help with this story. Feedback or constructive criticism would be lovely and I thank anyone who takes the time to read this. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean

**The High Road**

I took to the high road several hours after dinner. A glass or two of fine brandy sampled during the said meal convinced me not to take along my pistol or sword. I did however, allow myself one guilty pleasure. Before leaving my house I pocketed the pearl brooch I had intended to present to Elizabeth upon our engagement. Having the brooch in my pocket felt comforting and more than once I found my fingers brushing against it.

My practical side told me I no longer had any use for it. I could return it to the vendor but the mere thought brought about a sense of humbleness. Entering that little shop with my tail between my legs was not an appealing prospect. I would be serving my heart up on a platter, watching as the jeweler took back the brooch in his thick hands with a provoking smile. No, that I could not countenance.

I wanted to be free that night, or as free as possible. And being free meant discarding of the brooch.

Perhaps that was why I swerved from my normal path. I took a different road, a small side trail that led from the highway towards the beach. The ground was speckled with shattered shells and sand and a pleasant smell that reminded me of Elizabeth's perfume…It must have been the wild flowers growing nearby or the heady release of drunkenness.

I did not want to pine. I did not want to become one of those shoddy fellows who grew bitter with hate and regret. Elizabeth had chosen Turner over me. She had been given a fair choice. I could not be judgmental of her decision. But by God, it hurt still.

The evening air did little to clear my head. I usually enjoyed my peaceful walks along the highway. It allowed me an intimate view of Port Royal, the place I strove so hard to protect. When the road curved uphill I could see the last lights of the town and hear the dull lowing of the cows being led from pasture. And if I looked carefully, on clearer nights I could see the pale roof of the Governor's mansion, white like the moon in a sea of dark trees. I would think of Elizabeth, standing upon her balcony before bed.

I couldn't stand to be reminded of her tonight. I longed for the dimness of memory that comes with time. And so I followed the thin path out onto some low cliffs that faced the ocean, letting the breeze caress my cheeks for a time.

At once I thought to cast the brooch into the sea, my faceless, constant lover. I would gift it to her and she would cradle it in her black waves like a lady that pins jewels into her dark hair. Plunging my hand into my pocket I removed the brooch and held it over the cliff.

But the sharp scent of salt water made me reminiscence. The frantic search for Elizabeth, the desperate fighting just off the Isla de Muetra and the crushing disappointment of her rejection. I had to flee this place.

I shoved the brooch back into my pocket and took the threading lane back, under the boughs of tropical trees and past the flowers. Soon the highway lay before me.

It looked like a bleached bone, white and thin with a ray of moonlight upon it. I sighed, taking up the road once more. My pace remained slow. I was in no rush to return to my manor with its dark paneled walls that reminded me of a coffin. Instead I let the road take me, past the bends and curves and down into the valley where rain water gathered in the ruts.

I had just reached the far side of the vale when I heard the thump of hooves. They were long, ponderous, but fast-paced. The horse had to be large and lanky, though possessing of great speed.

I paused and listened. The sound had a soothing feel to it, like a heartbeat. But the rider was gaining ground fast. I frowned. At such a speed the horse would overtake me in a moment.

I stepped to the side of the road, minding the mud-filled ruts and puddles. A desperate grunt echoed from behind me. Turning, I saw the horse mount the top of the hill where I had stood moments before. The creature looked wild and the rider struggled to hold him back. Together, they careened down the slope towards me. At the foot of the hill, the rider jerked the reins to right and the beast veered around me, driving me towards the center of the road. I felt my heart rise in my breast as I leapt to avoid the creature's flailing hooves.

The rider pulled back the horse, the animal shrieking. I saw flecks of foam paint the road as the horse shook his head. He rose up upon his hind legs for an instant and then settled back down onto the roadway with a snort. The beast was the color of summer berries that grew to their full ripeness, each muscle rippling beneath his coat. As a man of the sea I had little appreciation for beasts of burden, but I found this creature to be magnificent if not a bit heavy in the neck.

I stood still and hoped that the rider would pass by again or gallop away further into the night as a phantom. A conversation with the horsemen was not to my liking. But the man sat quiet in the saddle, folds of his overlarge black coat falling about the flanks of the horse. He wore a dark hat braided with gold which hid his face. The butt of a well-made pistol glittered at his hip.

A pistol.

I reached for my own weapon and found nothing. My hands trembled with emptiness. What a terrible fool I was.

The rider regarded me from afar with an appraising glance. I thought to run. Useless, my senses told me. I would be hunted down in a flash. I could try to unhorse him and even then he could still shoot me before I took a step. I grimaced and cursed myself. Truly, I should have known better than to walk along the road unarmed. There was only one option open to me. And so I waited, the rider and horse a few short yards away. An eternity passed or so I guessed. Cool rivulets of sweat formed by my temples, the light fabric of my shirt stuck to the middle of my back. But still I waited, watching the rider that sat so still and the horse that quivered from a night of hard riding.

At last the man nudged the beast with his spurs and the two ambled closer. A leather-gloved hand flew to the pistol. I tensed as my fears were confirmed

"Stand and deliver." The order rang out in a high tone, muffled by a kerchief that served as a mask. The man's voice sounded young, he could have been just a boy. But I could only see two eyes, angry and wild like the light of a well-stoked fire.

I wondered if the highwayman knew who I was. Perhaps, like Jack Sparrow, he enjoyed taunting authority. Or perhaps I was just another hapless stranger, a trapped field mouse to be scooped up by a hawk.

I did not want to be seen as a mouse.

"I have no money," I said, holding my hands out to the side. The bright eyes drooped, pulled down by a frown. But the pistol remained aimed at my head.

"A pocket watch then," the voice sounded insistent, almost hopeful.

"No," I replied with a little smile. "I have nothing."

The rider shifted in the saddle to the sound of creaking leather. The pistol wavered. "You must have something. I've followed you from past the hill where all the rich folks live. You must have something. Hand it over or I put a fine whole in that pretty head of yours."

I was in a careless mood, loosened by brandy and heartbreak. I decided to tempt the devil. "Are you that desperate? Perhaps I am just a servant to one of those 'rich folks'."

The eyes hardened. "Nah, you walk too proudly to be a servant. All dignified like."

"You are right then. I am not a servant. But I am afraid I have nothing for you and I must be on my way. Good evening." I made to step past the highwayman, but he pulled the horse in front of me, blocking the road. The pistol was now an inch from my head.

"Tell me, what's in your right pocket?" he asked.

"My pocket?" Dear God, had I forgotten the brooch? The rider stared at me and I sighed. There would be no use lying. "A brooch, if you must know."

"That's a funny place for a brooch."

"It isn't mine," I said. "It belongs to the woman I love." Once more, the sting of Elizabeth's rejection filled me even in the face of danger. I cringed.

"Then why isn't it pinned to her breast?" The highwaymen appeared amused now. His eyes were flickering with mirth.

"Because she loves another," I replied. The bitterness in my voice did not faze the robber however. He sat forward in the saddle, leaning closer to me.

"Ah, I see. You're one of those pining men. Going to walk the roads all night bemoaning the loss of your bonny. Well, it's no sense, good sir. I am sure you can find something much more productive to do during the night hours."

"Like you?" My hate for brigands flamed up inside my chest. If only I had my pistol…"I suppose you want my brooch for _your _bonny."

"Nah, I've no use for a bonny. But I do want your brooch. I should shoot you dead though, just for lying to me."

"I'm surprised a man in your trade is so appalled by a simple lie," I said, jamming my hand into my pocket. There would be no avoiding it. I would have to give him the brooch. Part of me would be glad to be rid of it, while the melancholic side of me lamented its loss.

"We've all got our own standards." He laid the reins on his horse's neck and reached out for the brooch. I dropped the piece of jewelry into his open palm and took a step back. The highwayman pinned it to his coat, where it shone like a lone star in a black sky. "Beautiful. Thank you kindly, sir." He then offered me a sympathetic glance. "You should mark my words. Don't go pining over such an unworthy lass. I'm sure you deserve better."

"You have what you want." I felt my patience thinning and my embarrassment growing. If anyone ever found out that I, Commodore Norrington, the scourge of brigands, had allowed myself to be bullied by a highwayman, my reputation would never recover. "Please, let me pass now."

"No, not yet, sir," he said. "I have to find a way to thank you for this gift. Hmm, let me think." He tapped his free hand on the front of the saddle, the reins hanging from his fingers. "Ah, I know."

It happened too quickly for me to comprehend. The highwayman stuck his pistol back into its hostler and pulled away his kerchief. I took a step back. The face that met mine appeared thin and long and cruel. The mouth opened in a wide leer like Death ready to reap another life. I swallowed, the robber was a woman.

All of sudden she leaned down and kissed me. Her lips grasped mine and she would not let me move for a long minute. My heart pounded and my skin prickled, but I did not pull away. Finally, she released me and straightened in the saddle.

"Thank you, my dear. Enjoy your evening." And she rode off with a loud cackle, her horse kicking up his heels as he bounded down the road. The dying echo of pounding hooves haunted my ears for a long time as I tried to catch my breath.

After a long minute, I turned back up the road, headed for my home and another sleepless night.

**Author's Note: **There actually were a few highwaywomen during that time, the most notable of which being Lady Katherine Ferrers. Thanks for reading!


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